Impossible
by Mrs. Elizabeth Gibbs
Summary: Impossibility- the condition or quality of being impossible. Philip was beginning to see how much impossibility there was in this situation. Philip/Syrena, drabble, Philip then Syrena's thoughts. PotC: On Stranger Tides; post-movie.
1. Philip

A/N: I saw this movie last night, and fell in love with the Philip/Syrena arc. I've always had a fascination with mermaids, and I loved the 'Pirates' take on them. This one-shot takes place directly after Syrena kisses Philip and takes him into the pool with her.

Disclaimer: I own nothing; simply parts of the plot.

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><p>Humans were not supposed to be able to breathe under water, Philip knew that.<p>

And yet, he was.

Swimming with Syrena for what had felt like hours, he'd needed to breathe. Reflexively, his lungs had expanded and contracted, his body needing oxygen. He'd expected to die as the water entered his lungs, but instead, only the much needed element had entered his lungs.

He was astounded.

Syrena's beautiful brown eyes looked at him as she swam, her powerful tail slicing through the water easily. She was gorgeous; her dark chocolate hair flowing in the water, her porcelain white face gleaming in the dim sea water.

He thought back over the course of the days, the trip; what the sailors had said and what Syrena had done.

"_They say a kiss from a mermaid can keep a sailor from drowning."_

A kiss from a mermaid?

He thought back to the pool; clutching the wound in his side as he went to Syrena. Their word exchange; the purity in her big brown eyes, looking so innocent. Her lips, so soft against his as she reached up, her thin fingers entwining in his hair before pulling him down into the water with her.

"_Ask."_

Her voice, the allure that shone in her as she tilted her head, biting her lip in a provocative way, even if she hadn't meant it to be.

"_Ask."_

And he had asked. He, a man of God-a man who had chosen to devote himself and his life to worshiping the lord-had asked a mermaid to save him. He'd asked a mermaid-a creature that had only lived in myths up until that point, a creature that had not been created by God-for salvation.

The impossibility of it all astounded him.

He looked at Syrena again, watching the way her body surged through the water; how arms that had been dainty on land were strong and powerful as they carried him. Legs that had been unable to hold her weight on dry soil were now a powerful tail, cutting through the water like a knife.

His eyes didn't sting in the water as he looked around; he felt just as he would had they been running through the forest. He shifted slightly, looking around him, at the sea floor as it rushed past them.

He didn't know where they were going.

His side stung; the wound throbbed as the salt water surrounded it, and pain flashed through him. He inhaled deeply, and the fact that no water rushed into his nostrils, only oxygen, continued to astound him.

It should be seen as a miracle of God-and yet, it was the work of a mermaid.

Of the creature who had captured his heart.

He could not deny he felt something for Syrena; he looked at her, and his stomach tightened, and he felt lightheaded. His heart sped up, and his skin heated up; it pooled in his cheeks and his stomach, sending sensations through him that he'd never experienced before.

She was beautiful; she had a beauty that he had never had the opportunity to behold before. She was irresistible, with her innocence and beauty. Her brown eyes were so wide and intriguing; framed with thick dark lashes, Philip felt himself get lost in them.

And her voice; it was soft and gentle, but could be raspy and beautiful when she sang.

And she herself; she had saved him, instead of killing him. Instead of wanting to drag him down and have her way with him before killing him, she'd saved him.

"_You are different than the others."_

He loved her. It was impossible and wrong in every way, and yet-it wasn't.

It was impossible to breathe underwater, and yet he was.

As though she knew he was thinking of her, Syrena looked at him, her hands low around his waist, her breasts firm against his chest as she swam. Her brown eyes peered at him through the cloud of brunette hair that surrounded her head, and he reached up a hand to tuck the strands behind her ear, knowing they wouldn't stay there as they glided through the water.

Her lips curved into a hesitant smile, and he caught a brief glance at the fangs she kept hidden from him. He felt no fear; he brought a hand up to her lips, running one finger along the full bottom lip before it traced her right fang.

Syrena pulled him closer, and her lips descended on his again. He welcomed the warm flesh against his in the cold water, warmth flooding his body. He forgot about his studies, about the cross that hung from his neck and his promise to God. The kiss was full of everything they'd never say; full of wanting and longing and all the impossibilities of that moment.

Philip embraced the impossible-as long as it involved Syrena, and her hands in his, her lips on his.

The impossibility of loving a mermaid loomed on the approaching horizon.


	2. Syrena

A/N: I honestly wasn't planning on continuing this, but was convinced to write a drabble based on Syrena's thoughts. So, here it is.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

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><p>"<em>She has a name!"<em>

Syrena was unused to kindness.

Her sisters, while she knew she would never have survived without them, were not kind. They only cared of finding men to bring down to the sea floor, to have their way with and then kill them.

Syrena did not care for killing men.

She found them vulgar and foul; she had never met a man with any redeeming qualities, none worth bringing down to the floor, even just to kill.

Until now, that is.

Philip was different; Philip was kind and gentle, and a man she found herself strangely drawn to. He had saved her from the other pirates; he had seen her struggling for air, and made the effort to save her.

She would not forget it.

And she was still amazed he'd even taken the time to notice she was suffocating.

"_They did not take the time to look."_

Yet he had. And that made him different-different, and special, and important.

As they swam, she looked at him; his wide brown eyes gazed at the sea world around him, and she realized once again that this was all new to him.

She was glad she had saved him. No matter what her sisters said-no matter how horrible they spoke of men, and the human race itself, she was falling for Philip, and she was proud to have saved him.

She had known since the time she was only a small mermaid that a kiss from her could keep a sailor from drowning. And when she had seen Philip lying on the ground, clutching his wounded side, she'd known she needed to save him. He had saved her-how could she not, in return, save him?

Her eyes were drawn to his cross again-he called it a crucifix. It was a symbol of the man he worshiped-God, he said it was. She had never heard of such a thing-she worshiped the sea creatures and the sea god, who kept the oceans plentiful with sailing ships and the creatures within the waves.

Philip inhaled another breath in her arms, and she felt the movement of his chest against her breasts, his muscular frame making her body tingle in ways she'd never experienced before.

"_You saved me. You are different."_

He smelled rugged; manly and strong, his scent had overpowered her, even when she'd been in the sea, going towards him on the shore. She would never forget his scent; it was unique and individual, and she would always associate it with him.

A sharp, jabbing pain hit her as she moved her tail, and the reminder of the cut he'd given her on the beach hit her. It would leave a scar; after the scales had healed in her fin, there would always be a line from the blade he'd taken to her. She understood it was not his nature; he was not a fighter, he was a missionary.

She still believed he should not take up a blade again until he had had some practice, however.

His body gave a shiver in her arms, and she remembered that he would be cold; her body was used to all this traveling in cooler ocean waters. She could regulate her temperature easily, adapting to the water around her accordingly.

Pulling him closer, she watched as his hand came to her face, touching the silky brunette strands softly, tucking them behind her ear, even though they both knew that at her speed the hair would never stay. The gesture warmed her, and she smiled, her fangs gleaming in the low lighting.

Philip did not shrink from her fangs, as most would. He was fascinated; even now, he brought one hand up and run a finger over her full bottom lip, making her stomach warm at his touch. His finger moved to her right fang, his fingers gentle against the sharp edge.

She tugged him closer, wishing he could get even closer; his flesh felt so warm and comfortable against hers. She brought her lips to his again, the memory of that first kiss still engraved in her brain, hopefully for forever. His lips were soft and smooth, and she resisted the urge to sigh as they kissed.

Syrena believed that anything could be possible, even something as impossible as loving a human, as long as Philip was by her side-his hands in her hair and his lips on hers.

The impossibility of loving a human loomed on the horizon.


End file.
